


Something Special

by GoodIdeaAtTheTime



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Birthdays, Frozen Teardrop can do one, M/M, Post EW, Smut, Trowa is demanding but in a good way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:05:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13374960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodIdeaAtTheTime/pseuds/GoodIdeaAtTheTime
Summary: Quatre and his sisters disagree on how he should celebrate his birthday. Fortunately, he has a partner in crime to help him make alternative arrangements.





	Something Special

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sovaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sovaz/gifts).



Birthdays had never been at the top of Quatre’s priority list.

At least, not his own birthday.

His father had always been rather too preoccupied to recognise it personally. He had always seemed to make himself unavailable around that day, instead sending an expensive gift and an impersonal card via his tutor, or nanny.

As a child, he had wondered if it was because after waiting through 29 daughters for a son, he was disappointed that the son he got was Quatre. Quatre, who was a slight child, blonde and delicate, and not hugely like his father. He could see how that could be a disappointment.

His understanding grew more nuanced as he got older, and realised his birthday was also the anniversary of his mother’s death - something he hadn’t entirely understood when he was small. The concept of a mother had passed him by a little - his father had never bothered to explain that there was suppose to be another parental figure, and he hadn’t been entirely sure what the purpose of one was when he had come across mothers in other contexts.

Perhaps if he had gone to school, rather than being home tutored, he might have realised his lack sooner, from watching his peers interact with their families. But as it was, his social circle consisted mostly of adults, who kept a distance, and had not felt inclined to explain to deeply these things. His sisters, siblings by the dozens, were either long grown out of being children, or else were shipped off to exclusive boarding schools, breezing through infrequently during the holidays, between visits to friends, or various other excursions. Strangers, almost, with similar faces.

Whilst they were sent away, jetsetting and free, Quatre was kept walled up, protected, separate from the world and safe from the dangers presented to the only heir of one of the richest men in the Earth Sphere.

So his birthdays had passed with very little fanfare, and maybe something additional to add to his toy cupboard, or bookcase. And as he grew, the presents bore less and less resemblance to his interests.

After his father passed, after the war, relationships with his sisters got better - he was no longer forcibly kept separate, or ‘estranged’ due to clashing political views. Was, in fact, the owner of many of their assets. Controller of their inheritances. In some cases, their boss.

He was optimistic enough to assume that their sudden interest in him wasn’t entirely avaricious. Or that even if it started that way, that they quickly realised they actually liked having a little brother.

He quite liked having sisters, all told. He was less keen on their insistence that he start actually celebrating his birthdays. Especially since, with twenty-nine of them, and various other halves and nieces and nephews, and it went from a get-together to a full on Event before anyone else he might like to spend the day with got thought of.

No, big parties were not his thing. Birthdays were to be spent quietly.

His sisters disagreed. Avoiding them each year was getting to be a bit of a task. You could say one thing about the Winners - they knew how to strategize to get what they wanted. One Winner on a project was formidable. Twenty-nine on a project was a war council.

His phone buzzed on his desk, and he answered it without looking away from the screen.

“What’s the word?”

“Surprise party,” Trowa said, sounding amused but not surprised at the lack of greeting. “They’re all round at your place already, everyone’s been told you’ll be there for seven.”

“Who’re they sending to get me?”

“Claudia and Colette.”

One of the three sets of twins amongst the Winner sisters. Probably the most formidable pair, they had rather inherited their father’s ruthless streak.

So had Quatre.

“When did they set off?”

“About three minutes after me, but they’re heading to the front entrance.”

“I’ll be down in two.”

Shutting down his computer, he easily scooped his laptop and cell into his briefcase, picking up the weekend bag he had packed beside his desk, and swept out of his office. Four long steps took him to the door to the service stairs. Bare and echoey, they were also totally empty, and he flew down them easily, before sliding out the back door to the alleyway behind the building, where the delivery entrance was.

Trowa was parked at the end, engine running, and he was smirking as Quatre slid in next to him, bags dumped on the back seat.

“Let’s go.”

“Hang on.” Trowa was watching in the rear view mirror, waiting. “Got to wait for our decoy.”

Behind them there was a rumble of an engine, and then Quatre’s usual car roared past them, Duo at the wheel looking gleeful, before turning sharply onto the main street to drive past the building’s front entrance, where Colette and Claudia were probably just heading through the doors, and would be startled to see their little brother apparently speeding off down the road. They would almost certainly scramble to their car to follow him.

Once he was clear, Trowa pulled off, taking a right at the end where Duo had gone left, and quickly disappearing down the side streets behind the WEI offices.

“Duo doesn’t have a key to that car,” Quatre said, finally, once they were a few streets away.

“I’m sure he won’t have damaged anything irreparably,” Trowa assured him. “He’s been desperate to get his hands on it for ages.”

Settling back in his seat, Quatre loosened his tie and glanced across at his driver, finally relaxing now things were underway - he had been tense all day waiting to see how things were going to play out, even though he knew everything was prepared. Trowa was comfortable behind the wheel, his whole posture at ease. He was wearing a green button down that brought out his eyes, and a brown leather jacket, and he looked like the best thing Quatre had seen all day.

Obviously feeling he was being watched, Trowa glanced across to see Quatre looking at him with a daft smile on his face, and he grinned back.

“What?”

“You’re the best wingman,” Quatre told him.

“That’s not what that means.”

“I don’t care.”

Trowa huffed out a laugh, and looked back at the road. Quatre reached over to turn the radio on, and then settled back in his seat, getting comfortable for the rest of the drive.

  
  


*

  
  


They reached the cottage a couple of hours later, stopping off for supplies along the way. Trowa unloaded the groceries for the weekend and stowed them away, whilst Quatre dished up the takeout and poured out very generous glasses of wine. It wasn’t long before there was a fire crackling away in the woodburning stove, and they were slouched on the sofa, working through their wine, pleasantly full of curry and already thinking about the leftovers they were going to have tomorrow.

“You’re going to have to let them have a party for you eventually,” Trowa said, elbow on the arm of the sofa, head resting heavily on his hand - curry and wine and fire and travel combining with soporific effect. “Their plans are getting more elaborate, we’re going to have to start planning next year’s escape tomorrow.”

Quatre poked his thigh with a socked foot, sprawled as he was across the rest of the sofa, like a debutante on a fainting couch. Jacket and tie long since discarded, his shirt was rumpled, sleeves rolled up and more buttons than were strictly professional undone. He was contemplating taking his belt off too. He had probably eaten too much curry.

“I can’t let them win, that’s no fun.”

“It’s not a competition,” Trowa drawled, catching the foot and rubbing his fingers along the arch of it, drawing a groan from Quatre, who let his head fall back against the cushions.

“Isn’t it? It certainly feels like one.”

“It’s like you didn’t have enough work to do, so you created another thing to do,” Trowa continued, setting his glass of wine aside, and bringing his other hand into play, caresses turning into a massage, and moving up past his ankle to his calf. “An annual arms race.”

“Maybe I’ll throw a party for them,” Quatre said, setting his own glass aside and shifting on the sofa, his legs falling apart to allow Trowa to slide up between them. “Beat them at their own game.”

“You’re a ridiculous man,” Trowa told him, and then his lips were against Quatre’s neck and his hands were undoing his belt for him, tugging his shirt free and sliding under it over his skin.

“And yet you’re the one that loves me,” Quatre purred. “Who does that make more ridiculous?”

Trowa deigned not to answered that question, instead choosing to cover Quatre’s lips with his own, and ending the conversation entirely in favour of other activities. Quatre felt this was entirely acceptable, winding his arms around his lover’s shoulders and pulling him closer, letting his weight press him into the soft sofa cushions.

And then the lips were moving, sliding back down his neck, and then further, down where the collar of his shirt was open, clever fingers undoing more buttons and baring more skin as he went, hair tickling a trail behind him that made Quatre’s muscles twitch and shiver. He reached down, trying to card his fingers through Trowa’s hair, only to have his wrists grasped, and brought up to rest either side of his head, Trowa’s nose brushing his own.

“These stay here,” Trowa told him, pressing the wrists down into the cushion once, for emphasis. 

“Alright.”

Trowa released him, watching for a moment to check he behaved, but Quatre stayed where he had been put, smirking back at him expectantly. Satisfied, Trowa resumed his progress, unbuttoning Quatre’s trousers and pulling them down. He mouthed at the bulge in the underwear beneath, and Quatre bit his lip, twisting his hands to grab at the cushion he was resting on, stopping himself from reaching down to grasp, hold, touch.

Humming in approval, his lover tugged the underwear down, and then his mouth was on Quatre’s cock, hot and wet, and  _ ohsogood. _ Gasping, Quatre pressed up into it, grip tight on the cushion as slow, torturous suction began. Up, and down, tongue swirling around the tip and swallowing down the beads of precum.

It wasn’t long before he was a writhing, moaning mess on the sofa, wanton and entirely at Trowa’s mercy. So when he pulled away, sat up, the loss was profound. The look he shot Trowa clearly expressed his displeasure, and the other man chuckled huskily as he stood, stripping off his own shirt and then unbuttoning his fly.

“You look thoroughly debauched,” he observed, pushing his jeans down and stepping out of them, whilst Quatre admired the view.

He could imagine he did, hair mussed, lips kiss-swollen and shirt askew, trousers around his thighs, and erection red and throbbing against his stomach. Trowa looked fairly hedonistic himself, and he was watching Quatre with some… invested interest.

“Are you going to debauch me then?”

“Entirely,” Trowa assured him, and padded across to where the bags had been dumped to retrieve certain essentials for the task. By the time he returned, Quatre had kicked off his trousers and socks, and was just about to shrug out of his shirt when Trowa stopped him.

“Leave it on,” he said.

“You’re so demanding,” Quatre complained, “it’s  _ my _ birthday.” But he allowed himself to be guided back down onto the sofa, Trowa following close behind. The taller body covered his easily, one arm braced on one side of his head, boxing him in against the back of the sofa, whilst the other slipped down between his legs, long fingers wrapping around him and pumping torturously slowly.

The touch disappeared for a moment, and then reappeared, lower, and covered in cool, slick lotion. A single finger gently pressed into him, as Trowa captured his lips again in a deep, hard kiss. Tongues twined as a second finger was added, and he was rolling his hips against them, pressing up into the touch.

Familiarity made this so easy. Trowa knew exactly where and how to touch him to get the reaction he wanted, knew exactly how to prepare him quickly, how much he needed.

And Quatre knew exactly how to speed him up, except when he reached down his wrist was grabbed and pressed back into the pillow again with a disapproving tut.

“Tyrant,” Quatre muttered, and then arched up as three fingers were crooked inside him, pressing  _ just right _ , before they disappeared and Trowa’s weight shifted over him again, lining up something much better.

Braced against the arm of the sofa, he sank in slowly, and Quatre spread his legs wider, canting his hips up to meet him. Felt every glorious inch stretching him and filling him, until Trowa was fully seated, and slowly lowering his weight down onto him, bracing his weight on his elbows.

Quatre wasn’t exactly short any more, but Trowa was still taller, and at times like this it really felt it. Broad shoulders and defined arms bracketing him, wrapping around him, his face against Trowa’s throat, his collarbone, tasting skin and sweat and feeling completely enveloped in the embrace as they moved together.

It felt so safe, and filled all his senses, immersing him into the sex, inside and out, visceral and immediate.

Trowa shifted slightly, bringing his hips closer, tilting Quatre’s further up, pressing impossibly deeper and brushing against wonderful things with every movement. Breathless, he abandoned his grip on the cushion under his head, sliding his arms under his lover’s to wrap around his back, to cling on and press upwards, feeling the sensations spiraling through him.

He could feel the muscles bunching in Trowa’s back under his hands, feel his shoulders and neck tightening, his heartbeat hammering in his chest. The sudden rasping tone to his breathing, and the extra snap to each of his thrusts. Knew he was close, and this - he loved  _ this _ . Feeling Trowa lose control, and the tension and sudden explosion of release. The physical sensations with the emotions roiling through him and sweeping him away.

Trowa shuddered, a sound of surprise escaping his lips, as his hips jerked, uncoordinated and then he paused, still. Quatre stroked his hair, his back, his neck, and pressed gentle kisses to whatever skin was in reach as the tension bled from his body, leaving Trowa boneless and sated over him.

And then Trowa shifted, propping himself up again, a little further away from Quatre this time, meeting his eyes as he gently rolled his hips, coaxing a gasp and a thrust back. He kept rocking, still partially hard, as Quatre reached between them to take himself in hand. His cock was slick with precum, and sensitive from being trapped between the two of them, and he trembled and gasped for breath as he stroked himself. Hard, fast and confident as the cock inside him shifted and rolled against already sensitive skin. It didn’t take long before he was jerking his hips and spilling across his stomach, Trowa watching with hungry eyes, before lowering himself down to kiss him sweetly until the trembling stopped.

Several long, breathless moments later, and Trowa pulled away, standing to pad into the bathroom and return later with flannels to wipe them both down.

They ended, spooned around each other on the sofa, another log tossed onto the fire and the light throw from the back of the throw draped across them.

Quatre’s head was pillowed on Trowa’s bicep, their legs entangled, Trowa’s nose pressed into his hair.

“So,” Trowa murmured, lips against the back of Quatre’s neck, “what’s the plan for your next birthday?”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday to Sovaz!! I am so sorry it is so late.
> 
> And thanks to Kangofu-cb as always for the amazing beta. 
> 
> You are both wonderful ladies.


End file.
